Until Forever
by Dizzybunny
Summary: Aftermath of the visit to Barts, in His Last Vow. Molly and Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

Until forever.

Characters: Molly and Sherlock

Set during His Last Vow. Between when Sherlock leaves Baker Street shopping and meeting John at Magnussen's Offices.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Sherlock. I just adore them.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Standing in her small kitchen, Molly winced slightly as she readjusted the bag of frozen peas on her hand. It was stinging, and had swollen slightly. She was sure it wasn't anything serious, like a fracture, but it still needed a little TLC.

Her actions today had taken her completely by surprised. Molly never lost her temper like that. She'd also never raised her hand to anyone before either. She couldn't believe she'd smacked Sherlock across the face like that. Not just once, but three times.

Thinking back to earlier that morning, she'd been surprised to get John's call. All he'd asked was if she was at Barts, and then said he was coming over.

She actually had been happy to see John, as he barged through the door into her lab. But one look of his face made her realize this was no laughing matter. She could tell he was angry, so angry it looked like he couldn't speak.

He paused, and stood holding the door open. First Mary appeared, still in her pajamas. She raised her eyebrows at Molly, and gave a small "Sorry about this," in greeting. Mary was followed by what appeared to be a homeless person clutching his arm, then a black teenage boy, who looked in need of a hot meal and several hours sleep.

The pathetic collection of people took up various places in the lab, and John continued to stand expectantly holding the door. Finally he raised his voice, "We're waiting."

Sherlock shuffled in.

Molly's heart raced as she received an adrenaline surge. She wasn't sure if it was just his appearance in her lab, or the fact that he looked awful. Part homeless person, part scruffy teen, and part sullen three year old.

"John? Mary? What's going on?" Molly asked confused and concerned.

Mary got there first. "One pregnant lady who is very hungry!" Then indicating the boys in turn. "One sprained arm. One junkie. Sorry, make that two junkies, and a very pissed off best friend."

Molly turned to face Sherlock who stood dejectedly by the bench, studying the dust on his trainers. "Two?"

"Sherlock has been very stupid," said John slowly and clearly.

"How many more times do I have to say it? It was for a case." He said defensively.

"My arm hurts," said the tall homeless person.

"Shut up," said John, Sherlock and Mary in unison.

Molly shook her head, as though this was some bizarre dream. "Right. Pregnant lady - Snacks in the cupboard next to the kettle. Sprained Arm - Bandages, in the cupboard over there." She looked at the black teen. "Sit there and don't move, and if you are going to be sick, do it in the bin."

Moving slowly, she approached Sherlock. "And you?"

"Test him," said John. "For everything!"

Molly went to a drawer, and fished out a specimen bottle. "I need a sample."

John took the bottle, and indicated for Sherlock to follow him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, "I'm a big boy John. I can manage."

"No Sherlock. I don't trust you. You'll get someone else to pee in the bottle. I'm coming with you."

Once a sample had been obtained, it hadn't taken that long for Molly to complete the tests, and she was horrified by the results.

"Is he clean?" John asked.

"Clean?" she had replied and then proceeded to smack Sherlock Holmes hard across his face. It wasn't clear who was more stunned - Sherlock, John or Mary.

Molly pulled back her hand again and gave him another full forced smack. Realizing her hand was hurting, she switched to her left and smacked him again. "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with and how dare you betray the love of your friends. Say you're sorry." Molly was close to tears.

"Sorry your engagement's over. Although I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring," Sherlock had replied scathingly as he rubbed his face.

"Stop it. Just stop it." Molly couldn't bring herself to say anymore, but fortunately was saved by John who began to berate him.

It was shortly after this that everyone pretty much cleared out of her lab. Mary had squeezed Molly's arm as she left and whispered that she would phone her later.

In the quiet aftermath of their visit, Molly felt exhausted. She was stunned that she had stood up to Sherlock, and even more stunned at the results of his drug test. Too distracted to work she left her boss a voice mail, saying she wasn't feeling well, grabbed her coat and went home.

Where she now found herself standing in her kitchen, holding a bag of frozen peas, and considering bandaging her hand.

Sighing she looked the now empty space on her left hand. Sherlock had been correct. Her engagement was over. Tom had been wonderful, he always had been. But, despite what everyone thought, Tom was not stupid. It hadn't taken them both long to realize it would never work, once Tom had actually met Sherlock. He'd always be "not him", and there wasn't enough else to base a marriage on. They'd parted as friends, as with a "let's stay in touch", but both knew they wouldn't.

Wincing slightly, she decided it was no good. She would need to bandage her hand.

Reaching for the first aid box she kept in her kitchen cupboard, she noticed that it had actually got rather larger than originally planned. It was now overflowing with bandages, disinfectant wipes, and even a suture kit. Patching up Sherlock on his occasional visits during his "missing years" had prompted Molly to add to the kits initial range of items.

Molly was half way through a very bad poor bandaging attempt when her door bell rang. It wasn't horrendously late, but she wasn't expecting anyone.

Carefully she scooped up the half wound bandage and made her way to the door. Struggling to undo the stiff lock with her left hand, she just managed to get the door open, when the rolled bandaged slipped from her hand. It bounced twice before rolling down the corridor, unraveling as it went.

Molly stood in her hallway, her hand half bandaged, looking like an advert for Andrex toilet tissue, with the white fabric now decorating her hall carpet. Unfortunately standing on her door step was the last person she wanted to see. Sherlock.

"Wh…what are you doing here?" she said confused and flustered. "Are you hurt?"

Sherlock's clothes were looking a lot cleaner than the last time she him, and the smell had improved somewhat. He had his arms outstretched, resting on each side of the door, his head bowed. He reminded Molly the small crucifix she used to have as a child.

"I came to apologise." He said very quietly. He looked up, and saw her predicament. "Do you need some help?"

"You… you don't have to do that." Molly stumbled.

"Apologise? Or help?" Sherlock didn't wait for an answer and stepped forward. Molly automatically stepped back and let him in; just like she had done every other time he had appeared, needing her to patch him up.

"Either."

Sherlock gently reached out and grasped Molly by the wrist on her injured hand, and tugged her slightly, leading her to the kitchen. "I think I do."

In the kitchen he pulled out a chair and made Molly sit down. She was hyper conscious of everything that had occurred earlier today and couldn't think of what to say. He took off his coat, throwing it carelessly across the back of a kitchen chair; He then sat down himself, and inspected her handiwork in silence. Quickly and efficiently he unwrapped her hand.

Molly sat silently, waiting for him to say something.

Sherlock gently inspected her swollen fingers, still without a word between them, and then re-bandaged her hand more securely that it had been before.

Molly inspected the finished job. "That's very good."

Sherlock shrugged, "I had a good teacher. Given the number of times you looked after me, I guess I learnt something."

Sherlock tidied up the first kit and slipped it back into the cupboard. He turned back to Molly, who remained seated. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

Molly nodded, "I know, bruising probably, but it's not broken."

"No. I mean me."

Molly looked up sharply, into Sherlock's blue eyes. "I don't understand." Suddenly her eyes widen in shock. "Oh my… You haven't…. you're not." She reached out to grab his shirt cuff, and started to undo his cufflink, planning on inspecting his arm.

Sherlock stopped her by grabbing both her wrists, to prevent him hurting her hand. "No Molly, it's not that. I haven't taken anything."

Molly was puzzled, "then what?" Molly noticed he hadn't yet let go of her, but didn't pull away. She was within inches of him, and could feel warmth radiating from him.

He paused inspecting her face closely, "You have helped me so many times, in so very many ways. Will you help me once again?"

"Anything," said Molly honestly. "Anything you need."

"You, Molly. I need you."

He pulled her closer into his arms, initially trapping her arms between them. "I need to feel … something _real_. So much of my life is or feels like an illusion. Layers of lies and deceit. Everyone pretending to be something they're not. But you…. You are the most honest and real thing I've ever known." He kissed the top of her head.

Molly initially tensed, and then relaxed against him. She felt his kisses on her head, and slowly turned her head to face him, reaching up with her un-bandaged hand to touch his face.

"I'm sorry I slapped you," she said, stroking his cheek.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you." He gently moved a strand of hair away from her face, tangling his hand in her hair. He looked deeply into her eyes. "I'm sorry for a lot of things. But I am so sorry I didn't do this sooner." He kissed her lips.

It could have been a second - it could have been a lifetime - and neither would ever be able to say how long they stood together, sharing an embrace. Sherlock holding onto Molly like his life depended on it. Molly supporting and sustaining him, returning his kisses with her own; allowing all the passion and hope she'd been bottling up for years to surface.

Eventually Sherlock pulled back, and Molly saw a single tear track down his cheek. "Sherlock?" she whispered, wiping it with her thumb.

"You are quite a woman, Molly Hooper." He drew her into another hug, holding her tightly, but unable to see her face, pressing her close to his chest. "I can't explain, but If I asked you to wait for me. No matter what you hear, what you read, what people say. To wait for me. Without you even knowing for how long? Would you?"

Molly could feel Sherlock stillness, but hear his heart beating in his chest. It was like he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.

"Forever, Sherlock. I'd wait forever."

She felt Sherlock draw breath, and relax. He kissed her again, then reluctantly released his grip on her and took a step back, putting some distance between them.

"I have to go." He said regretfully.

Molly nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. There was a lump in her throat that felt like it was choking her. She watched as he put on his coat, and followed him as he made his way to the front door of her flat. Molly felt more afraid and more vulnerable than she'd ever felt before.

He turned and looked at her. He already knew every line of her face, the curve of her lips, the little mole on her cheek, the way she'd bite her lip, but now she was different, and he wanted to commit her new appearance to memory; her tousled hair, lips slightly puffy from their kisses, face flushed and the new look of worry for him in her eyes.

Sherlock opened the door, and stood hesitantly in the door way. Molly stepped forward and placed her bandaged hand on his chest, positioned over his heart. There was no need for words.

He gave a small smile, bent down and kissed her cheek, just like that night at the Christmas party. It was sweet and chaste. "Until 'forever'," he whispered. He adjusted the collar on his coat, and turned away, walking into the night.

Molly stood at the door watching him until he vanished from view. Unquestionably something had changed between them, but Molly wasn't exactly sure she'd ever be able to explain it. She didn't understand exactly what Sherlock had meant by his comment about lies and illusions. Touching her cheek where he'd kissed her, she could only hope that 'forever' came sooner rather than later.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Thanks in advance to all of you wonderful people who read Fanfiction. Even more thanks to everyone who leaves a review.

BTW: I haven't forgotten my other story – I just a little inspiration to strike.


	2. Chapter 2

Until forever.

Characters: Molly and Sherlock

Set during His Last Vow.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Sherlock. I just adore them.

I hadn't planned to write anything else, but my brain won't leave this alone.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

After Sherlock had left, Molly had spent many hours lying awake in bed pondering his words. It was impossible for life not to be complicated around Sherlock. But his references to lies, illusions and deceit had concerned her. Obviously not her, that was clear from his references to her being 'real'. She couldn't help but smile to herself. They'd shared a kiss. Not just a small peck on the cheek, 'you're a good friend' type of kiss. But a full on 'let's be serious' type kiss. And his parting words to her, "Until forever". They sounded like a promise. But 'It's going to get worse before it gets better'. What did he mean?

Not for the first time, Molly wished Sherlock was a little more transparent. His words kept repeating in her head. She couldn't sleep; it felt as though something was wrong.

Twice Molly had risen from her bed to check the doors were locked, and she hadn't left the gas on. She just couldn't settle.

Finally around 2am she gave up, and decided to head into work, to catch up with the paperwork she'd left earlier that day.

As she tried to type up her report from yesterday's post mortem, she kept glancing at her hand, neatly bandaged. Normally she was quite quick at typing, but it was like trying to type with mittens on. Her mobile suddenly buzzed in her lab coat pocket distracting her. She felt a small pang of disappointment when she saw it was Mary, rather than Sherlock, then the blood drained from her face as the read the message, her hands shaking.

JUST HEARD FROM JOHN. SHERLOCK'S BEEN SHOT. IT'S SERIOUS. WILL TEXT YOU WHEN I KNOW MORE.

Molly's world seemed to collapse in on her. Where? Where was he? How bad was it? What had happened?

Molly had always prided herself on being good in a crisis, and now was no different. Pushing all the concern she had for Sherlock into a space marked – 'worry later', she turned back to her computer. Come on Molly - think. Shot meant emergency; serious, probably meant surgery. She started hitting the keys to bring up patient records. Fortunately most hospitals in London used the same database. Check Admissions, check A&E, she thought. Mary had mentioned John, therefore John would probably have filled out a patient record card, so they would actually have Sherlock's name. Quickly and expertly she navigated her way through the computer maze of hospital records.

A sudden thought struck her. She had deliberately kept the results of the drug tests out of the system. The Emergency room doctors wouldn't know what Sherlock had been using, and might have in his system. They certainly wouldn't take into account the effect of drug interaction with anything he might have in his system. John was a doctor, but he didn't know exactly what Molly had found during the tests.

It took her less than 30 seconds to find Sherlock's details. He was in surgery.

Molly dashed to her supplies cupboard, and searched frantically through the shelves. It took her moments to spot the small bottle of clear fluid, which she grabbed and then palmed a standard disposable syringe on her way back through the lab. At a fast run, Molly dashed down the corridors, and through reception, disregarding the admonishing look from the receptionist. But a doctor running in a lab coat didn't actually attract as much attention as one might think.

Molly knew Barts like the back of her hand. She traversed the hallways and stairs cases with ease, arriving at the correct operating theatre, out of breath and winded.

Inside the room there was a hive of activity. She could just make out Sherlock surrounded by doctors and nurses, it was clear that Sherlock's situation was very serious. She knew she couldn't enter theatre, she wasn't scrubbed, and an infection could be just as fatal as a bullet.

Molly banged on the door loudly, attracting the attention of one of the nurses on the periphery who came over to see what the panting lady doctor wanted.

"Give….. this…. to…. patient." Molly panted out, handing her the bottle and syringe.

The nurse looked doubtfully at her, "the doctor won't do it. Not on your say so."

Molly grabbed the woman's arm urgently. "Listen to me." She begged. "That man. He's an addict. As of yesterday morning, I know he was using. That ….will help stabilize him. " Molly felt the tears streaming down her face. "Please…."

Suddenly Molly heard the unmistakable sound of the heart monitoring registering a problem. "Go!" Molly pushed the nurse back into the room, and peered through the door's window. Through her tears, she could see the nurse speaking to one of the doctors, and he inspected the bottle. He glanced in her direction and then grabbing the syringe, he expertly inverted the bottle and drew off some of the liquid, injecting it directly into the cannula on the back of Sherlock's hand.

Molly watched as the medical team continued to try to save Sherlock. She could just make out the monitor's constant whine over the shouting of the medical team. "Charging! Clear! Again! Again!"

Then silence. Finally a lone male voice said. "I'm calling it."

"No…." Molly fell to her knees, sobbing.

Collapsed on the floor, she didn't see the blip on the machine. She didn't see the flutter of his finger. She didn't see the doctor turn in surprise and register the fact that his patient was in fact 'not dead'.

Suddenly she was aware of the sound of raised voices again. Dragging herself up, she saw that Doctors were working on him again, a hubbub of activity surrounding him. She offered up a silent prayer, and then gasped as Sherlock's eyes opened. He was back.

Molly fell heavily against the wall, letting her eyes close. He had a long way to go, but for now, he lived.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Molly had stayed outside the theatre for as long as she dared, before heading back to the morgue. She'd caught snippets of conversation from the Doctors and Nurses as they had entered and left the room. Sherlock was critical, but out of immediate danger. Once he was stable enough, Sherlock was being transferred to the VIP ward, a very expensive and exclusive part of the hospital. Molly felt sure his brother had a hand in that.

She kept out the way for the rest of day, staying in the morgue, but doing occasional checks on the hospital database for updates on Sherlock's condition. Mary had sent her a text to let her know that Sherlock was OK, but other than that, no one had bothered to update her.

Checking her watch, for the thousandth time, she decided it was late enough. She couldn't face waiting any longer.

Ensuring she had her security pass and ID, she made her way up to the private wing of the hospital. She waited in the stairwell, watching through the glass side panels, waiting until the nurse was dealing with another patient, before sneaking through the door. Molly had memorized exactly which room Sherlock was in, and she quietly made her way past other doors, before quickly opening his room door, and slipping inside the darkened room. A single small lamp illuminated Sherlock's face, the rest of the room was thrown into shadow.

"Oh Sherlock," she whispered sadly. "What have you done to yourself?"

She padded quietly to the end of the bed, and took the patient notes from the storage rack. Flicking through them, she started muttering to herself. "Heavy sedation, good. Antibiotics. Blood loss…." Molly trailed off into silence as she read about the injury Sherlock had suffered, he was very lucky to have survived. Quietly she replaced the notes.

Very carefully, so she wouldn't disturb the cannula in Sherlock's hand, she slipped her hand into his and then bent down and gently kissed it. "Don't leave me now, Sherlock. We haven't had our forever yet."

"Miss Hooper?"

Molly gave a small scream, dropped Sherlock's hand and spun round to face a figure seated in the dark. She took a step back from the bed. "I….I…."

The figure reached up and turned on a second light, illuminated the corner of the room. Molly recognized this figure instantly from the time he visited the morgue. "Mr… Mr Holmes."

He smiled tightly and stood up. "I would like to say I am surprised to see you Miss Hooper, but I am not."

"I….I just wanted to see how he is," she said blushing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Wait Miss Hooper," he said quietly.

Molly froze.

Mycroft pointed at the patient notes Molly had read. "Do these tell you anything?"

She nodded. "He was incredibly lucky. No major organs hit, but massive internal bleeding."

"That was being lucky?" he queried confused.

Molly swallowed before speaking. "He died Mr Holmes. The Doctor had called it; stopped the resuscitation. And yet somehow he came back from that. We …. I mean _you_ almost lost him. He survived. Today, yes, I call that being lucky."

"I see." Mycroft stood for a moment and watched her carefully. Molly refused to buckle under his intense gaze.

Finally Mycroft spoke. "I understand from the Doctor that operated, that they were completely unaware of my brothers…. Bad habits, shall we say," said Mycroft studying the handle of his umbrella. "An unknown female doctor appeared with just the right medication needed. Apparently it was exceptionally fortuitous timing."

Molly stiffened slightly but said nothing.

Mycroft nodded, and walked slowly towards the door. "I believe Sherlock is indeed lucky. Lucky to have such friends. I'll tell the nurse to allow you 24x7 access to these rooms." He paused at the door. He turned to look at her, "Thank you, Miss Hooper. And for what it's worth, I hope you get your forever."

She smiled. "Please…Please call me Molly," she said.

"Very well. Good night Molly. Try to get some rest. You look tired."

Molly waited until the door closed, leaving her alone with Sherlock. She pulled the chair up next to the bed and sat down exhausted. It was late and she was tired, but at that moment, sitting by Sherlock in the quiet of the night, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Authors note: I think I see possibly another chapter of two of this. Trying to fit it in with the episode.

Thanks to all who left a review. Renaissancebooklover108, Ethera O, Lavanyalabelle, Kathmak, Rocking the Redhead, lovebirds413, Friend2friend1 and De. I get so excited to see your comments. Good, bad or corrections to my grammar – I love them all.


End file.
